


The Robb x Rhaenys Drabbles

by grumkin_snark



Series: ficlets and one-shots [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 02:14:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 17,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12831156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumkin_snark/pseuds/grumkin_snark
Summary: A collection of short prompt responses focused on Robb x Rhaenys.





	1. moving into an apartment together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a 3-sentence AU meme.
> 
> @ashara asked: robb/rhaenys + modern au, moving into their first apartment together

“I hate this part,” says Robb with a sigh as he looks around at all the boxes they have to unpack.

Rhaenys pulls him to her and drops her hands to his belt. “Well, you know what they say: it’s bad luck to move in before you’ve christened the place.”


	2. elia and catelyn discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For 3-sentence AU meme.
> 
> @catellynstully asked: elia & catelyn talking about rhaenys x robb

They both try to play it off, her daughter and Catelyn’s son, but they’re utterly terrible at it; she’s never seen Rhaenys act this way around someone, and there’s no mistaking the adoration in Robb’s eyes when he looks at her. This is the last thing she wanted, to have her daughter throw in her lot with the  _Starks_  of all people, but how could she possibly deny her?

One glance at Lady Catelyn tells her the woman sees the same thing she does, and so she leans over and says, “My lady, I think there’s something we should discuss.”


	3. war of the five kings au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For 3-sentence AU meme.
> 
> @bbnightengale asked: Rhaenys x Robb during war of the 5 kings? Like she secretly survives?

“They say you died in the Sack of King’s Landing.”

“They say you ride into battle on the back of a giant direwolf.”

“They say Dorne wants to send spears to my cause.”

“They say you’re in need of a bride.”

“What do  _you_  say?”

“I say I’ll fuck you right here and now if it means I can watch that wolf of yours slaughter every last Lannister, one by one.”


	4. rhaenys and theon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For 3-sentence AU meme.
> 
> Anon asked: Rhaenys and Theon Greyjoy in a modern AU (weird, I know)

Rhaenys sighs as she watches Robb and Theon get into a very animated conversation over some foreign video game she’s never heard of, not for the first time wondering what she’d gotten herself into. He’s all of Robb’s insecurities with all of Jon’s temper and all of Mr. Greyjoy’s entitlement, but Robb loves him for all that.  _When you marry someone you marry their friends_ , she’d heard somewhere, and for better or worse, she knows Theon’s here to stay.


	5. "can you hear me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a number meme.
> 
> Anon asked: Robb/Rhaenys in 11/21?

> _11\. can you hear me_  
>  _21\. good riddance_

He wakes to the sound of screaming.

His first instinct is alarm, to reach for his sword that hangs on the wall. But the sound is coming from beside him, and in an instant the alarm fades to awful realization. Rhaenys’s skin is ashen and covered in sweat, the sheets kicked aside, her hands clenched into fists so tight that blood drips from where her nails have pierced her palms.

It’s been years since he’s seen her like this, so long that he’d begun to believe the fits had gone away entirely, but there’s no mistaking this for what it is. He’s a fool for thinking any part of her could ever forget what happened, could forget hearing her mother and brother being slaughtered a floor below, could forget what the Lannisters had done, no matter that it’s been over four decades now since that day.

Bracing himself against her thrashing—it wouldn’t be the first time he got hit—he pulls her to his chest and tries to loosen her fingers. “Rhaenys,” he says sharply. “Rhaenys, can you hear me?  _Wake up_.”

He doesn’t know how long it takes to get through to her; time always becomes a blur when this happens, his heart breaking every second she’s trapped inside her memories. And then finally,  _finally_ , her body stills and her dark eyes flutter open. “Robb? What—?”

“You had a nightmare, my love,” he whispers. “You’re in Winterfell, you’re safe.”

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she nods, and then covers her face with her hands. “I thought I was free of those,” she despairs. “I thought I was free of  _him_. But I’m  _not_ , it was the same dream, the one where I’m Mother, where I can  _feel him_ —”

Her words become unintelligible as she devolves into sobs, and he says nothing, does nothing, just lets her weep. He’d learned long ago that there is nothing he can say to make it better, that he can’t pull her through it alone. He wishes he could kill Gregor Clegane as brutally as the beast had killed her family, but no, he’s already been felled, that was Prince Oberyn’s crusade.

So what can he do now? How can he fight a ghost? He has an entire kingdom under his rule, dozens of houses sworn to him, countless men who would go to the ends of the earth if he asked, and yet none of that is worth a damn thing. No army in the world can fight this war, not when it’s in her head.

“What can I do?” he begs, unable to bear being so  _useless_. “Tell me what I can do.”

She looks up at him, and behind her grief and fear, he sees  _her_. “Stay here with me.”

He kisses away her tears and vows, “Always.”


	6. snowstorm confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a number meme.
> 
> @rhaella asked: 2, 20 robb x rhaenys
> 
> Anon asked: robb/rhaenys 13, 20

> _2\. in the snow  
>  _ _13\. in the storm  
>  _ _20\. breaking the rules_

“Robb Stark, have you gone mad? You expect me to go out into a blizzard?”

He grins the grin that flutters her heart—not that she would ever tell him so. She tries to ignore it. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Your Grace?”

“You are aware it is unseemly for a lady to be alone with a man who is not her intended?”

“If the king’s sister and Master of Laws can’t do as she likes, who among us can?”

“I am not the Master of Laws.”

Robb rolls his eyes. “Not in title, mayhaps, but neither was Elaena Targaryen and yet everyone knows she was the real Master of Coin.”

“Never mind that. I am not going out there. I hardly know you.”

“Three progresses to Winterfell you and His Grace have made, and that tourney in the riverlands,” he points out. “I am still a stranger to you?”

She should have rebuffed him ages ago, for his behavior is far too familiar than is proper; she can only imagine Lady Catelyn’s reaction if she were aware of it. And yet every time Rhaenys tells herself she should remind him of their stations, that she outranks him by several tiers, the words never leave her mouth. He’s a bad habit now, one she can’t seem to break.

He holds out his hand. “I won’t let you get frostbite. Promise.”

Cursing herself for her weakness, she takes his hand and lets him lead her outside into the falling snow. Truthfully, she’d become more or less accustomed to the cold ages ago—though she’d take Dorne’s blazing heat over it any day—but it makes her feel better to complain. She’s grateful that Robb is the heir to Winterfell, for it means neither the guards nor the workers would make mention of them to anyone, though their incredulous expressions are almost enough to have her insisting they turn back.

In the courtyard the snow is slush rather than powder, but as soon as they enter the godswood it is perfectly pristine, disturbed by not so much as a rabbit or doe. She slows in order to better look around her, caught up by the splendor. The weirwood branches are heavy with snow, their trunks nearly invisible but for the weeping faces carved into them. It smells new and old all at once, and it only takes a short while before the castle is out of sight, throwing them into a silent wonderland.

“Well?” he asks.

She turns from the trees to him, and rather wishes she hadn’t. Snowflakes are melting in his hair, and his eyes are a splash of color against the surrounding white. “It’s beautiful,” she concedes. “Thank you.”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

She startles at his boldness. “Excuse me?”

“Forgive me,” he says at once. “That was inappropriate.”

“Very much so. You are out of line, my lord.” For all that she forces sternness into her voices, though, her heart thunders at his words. She’d been called beautiful before, but by sycophants and family, never like this. There is no ulterior motive that she can spot, no false sincerity, and it’s that that makes her ask, “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Are you goading me into vanity?”

“No, of course not.” He runs a hand through his hair, flustered. “This is not going how I planned.”

“What exactly were your plans?”

He winces. “When you ask it like  _that_ , I’m going to sound like a cad. A mistaken one, no less.”

“Need I remind you it is a crime to refuse a princess?”

“I merely—I’d thought—” He straightens his shoulders and takes her hands. “Have I imagined this? If I have, you need only say the word and I shan’t mention it again.”

She considers doing exactly that; it would be one fewer complication in her life, but all the same the thought of lying, here in the ancient godswood, lying when it would mean he would only ever be any other Lord Paramount’s son and not…whatever he is now, it sits ill with her.

“It’s not that simple,” she says. “My fate is not my own to decide, and my mother…surely you see how this could cause her pain.”

“We are to pay for the mistakes of our kin?”

“That’s how the world works,” she sighs. “Daeron the Good paid for Aegon the Unworthy, every Targaryen woman has paid for King Jaehaerys I, the Reynes and Tarbecks paid for Lady Ellyn and her brothers. So must I pay for my father and grandfather.”

“I don’t believe that. The realm is healed thanks to your brother.”

“What makes you think it would even work? A union between Targaryen and Stark has never succeeded. Not the pact that Aegon III promised Cregan Stark, not my father and your aunt. Why would we be any different?”

“Because we are not any of them,” he says. “We have come together in a time of peace, not war. As for Queen Elia, has she shown mislike of me?”

“She hasn’t said anything, no.” Rhaenys knows her mother has no fondness for the Stark name, but she can’t remember her saying anything bad about Robb the one time she met him, nor has she spoken ill of Lord Eddard. All the same, her mother has suffered enough, and Rhaenys couldn’t bear adding to it. “Robb, I can’t. Not…not yet.”

“But someday?”

She rises up to her toes and kisses him, light and sweet. “Mayhaps.”

That they’re standing here, Targaryen and Stark, the realm free of war for more than twenty years, her mother and grandmother both happy, her brother in the throes of wedding preparations, makes her wonder if Robb is right after all. Maybe they can do what the others didn’t. Maybe they are the answer. Maybe Robb is  _her_  answer.


	7. robb gets tongue-tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a number meme.
> 
> @bruceselina asked: robb x rhaenys, no. 6?
> 
> Anon asked: robb/rhaenys, 4

> _4\. irresistible  
>  6\. tongue-tied_

To say his camp has been in a state for the last four days would be a rather large understatement. Everything had been going as well as could be expected until the morning she had shown up with an honor guard and thrown it all into chaos.

Rhaenys Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, back from the dead. Even now, even despite her proof, he has a hard time believing it.

Harder still is trying to avoid dwelling on the subject of alliance, of what that would mean. She has no siblings nor any available cousins, which means there’s only  _her_ , and he knows all too well that in this world  _alliance_  means  _marriage_. Had he not done the very same with his uncle? Betrothed to a Frey, and that was just in exchange for crossing the Twins. In exchange for an  _army_ , surely the same would be required, this time of Robb himself.

It would be easier if she were cruel or old or ugly. At least then he would be able to concentrate. At least then she would be nothing more than a business transaction. Instead, she is nearly of an age with him, she has obeyed the rules of engagement to the letter, and even Grey Wind had inexplicably taken a shine to her.

And her  _beauty_ …

She plagues his every thought. It shames him, but he can’t stop it. The way her long hair falls to her back, bound in gold rings; her smooth, golden skin shown to him only in glimpses through the sheer sleeves of her gown; her sharp, deep, dark eyes that show intelligence and hide fear; her hard elegance that had enraptured him the minute he saw her. He wonders if the first Rhaenys was the same: threatening, and yet agonizingly alluring.

 _You’re a king, not a lecher_ , he keeps having to remind himself,  _and she is twice a princess, not some camp follower to be ogled._

Nevertheless, no matter how much he berates himself, the more he thinks about  _not_  thinking about her, the worse it gets. Until finally one night, exasperated and disgusted with himself, he throws aside the covers and gets dressed, only grabbing a knife as an afterthought. He trusts his bannermen implicitly, and Princess Rhaenys’s guards had thus far shown no discourtesy, let alone a mind for murder, but better to be safe than careless.

Robb wends his way through the castle down to the Trident with the idea to submerge himself and let the water scourge his head and body of his impropriety. He kneels down on the bank and splashes his face with cool water, cups some over his head until it trickles down his shirt and soaks his flushed skin. Just as he’s pondering going for an actual swim, he hears a twig snap and then his arm is wrenched around and sharp metal presses against his throat.

“I could have killed you just now.” It is a woman’s voice, a familiar one, and with only those seven words, all his efforts with the river are rendered useless. “You brought neither sword nor your wolf? Some soldier you are.”

“A soldier does not expect to be attacked in his own camp, Your Grace.” He feels her reach down to his hip to disarm him of his dagger, and he can’t help but reflect on the fact that her hand comes within inches of… _elsewhere_ , and he begs the old gods and the new that she doesn’t notice what her mere presence is doing to him. “But it…it seems I am at your mercy. Pray tell, what are your demands?”

“I haven’t decided,” she says. “What would you say is a suitable punishment for depriving a princess of her solitude?”

“Perhaps you’ve deprived me of mine.”

“Why would  _you_  need such a thing? You have everything.”

Robb desperately tries to think of something to say. He can’t exactly tell her the real reason he’s here, that  _she’s_  the one for his midnight excursion. “I…well, I…”  _Think, damn you!_  “I miss my father.”

It’s true enough—sometimes he feels as though the grief will swallow him whole—but tonight, grief had not been his motivation.

“We are both without one now, it seems.” She releases him without fanfare, apparently done with her games. “Mine died here, in this very river. They say rubies from his breastplate still wash up now and again.”

He turns around to face her, and wishes he hadn’t. Her hair is for once unbound, flowing in thick curls about her shoulders, she’s dressed in thin silks that he’s fairly sure should be worn  _beneath_  a gown, not  _as_  a gown, and there’s enough danger in her expression that indicates quite clearly she  _could_  kill him if she so chose just as she’d promised.

_Seven save me._

“Y-Yes, I have heard the same,” he stutters. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“I’m not,” she says, stowing her dagger. “Not really. I hardly remember him, and what he did to my family and to the realm, was unforgivable.”

He blinks, momentarily taken aback. “He was still your father.”

For an instant—and only an instant—a flash of vulnerability slides across her face. “Yes, he was.” She sighs. “I suppose that is my weakness.”

“We all have weaknesses.”

“And what is yours? What vexes the King in the North?”

“Dornish princesses, perhaps,” he quips. He is grateful his voice is steady; inside, he is a jumble of nerves.

“Hmm. You are one man among thousands, then. Wantons, cheats, beguiling seductresses, that’s what they call us, and yet given the chance they’d bed us all the same. The ultimate conquest, and the easiest.”

“Vexation is not the same thing. I do not think of you in the way you describe.”

“No? Your breeches say otherwise.” Mortified, he searches for something to say,  _anything_ , but then she runs her hand lightly down his chest and leans up to whisper in his ear. “Worry not. Your eye is not the only one that has wandered.”

He stares at her in disbelief. “I—what?”

“I shall see you on the morrow, Robb Stark.”

She leaves him alone on the riverbank with a parting smirk, and once she’s out of earshot he lets out a groan. Her words have set off his imagination worse than before, and he can’t help but envision her lying in her chambers, one hand on her breast, the other sliding up her thigh and reaching beneath her shift, his name on her lips…

Without even bothering to strip, he hurries into the river and submerges himself head to toe, wondering which would torture him most: drowning, or having to face her in the morning.


	8. number via airdrop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @bbnightengale asked: If you do prompts, do you do modern ones? Like maybe a Robb/Rhaenys of that [number via airdrop](https://samwpmarleau.tumblr.com/post/165623144329/thatsmoderatelyraven-this-is-so-awesome-where-is) post you reblogged?

“ _How_  is there traffic at two in the afternoon?” She’s been sitting in gridlock for an hour now, with no signs of improvement. She doesn’t know if there’s an accident or what, but if things don’t start moving soon, she’s going to lose it. She already had a miserable day at work, and her patience is wearing thin.

The only part of this that’s bearable is her godsend of a rearview mirror. The driver of the car behind her is a guy her age, and utterly  _gorgeous_. Auburn curls, blue eyes, the jawline of a model, and probably the body to match. No ring, either. She’s tried to play it cool, but she’s pretty sure he’s noticed how often her eyes flick up to the mirror; still, if he notices, that means  _he’s_  looking, too, so. Pot, meet kettle.

All of a sudden she sees the brake lights in front of her turn off, and the cars ahead actually start to move, temporarily taking her mind off the guy. She rolls forward a full ten feet and then—nope. Traffic stops again. She lets out a string of curses and slumps down in her seat, desperately trying to relieve a cramp in her leg.

Her cell phone trills, and she fully expects it to be her mother wondering where she is. The drive home from college normally only takes two hours, and now Rhaenys is on three-and-counting. She glances at the screen and frowns. It’s an AirDrop, one decidedly  _not_  from her mother.

> _Robb Stark would like to share a note._

Despite knowing it could very well be a dick pic from some perv, her curiosity has her accepting.

> _To the girl staring at me from the really old car…hope this is you._

There’s a number below, and Rhaenys nearly drops her phone. She twists around in her seat to look through the back window, and sure enough, the driver behind her is looking straight at her and shrugs.  _Goddamn it._

This whole thing is ridiculous, she doesn’t even know the guy, he could be a serial killer waiting for his next victim, but…well, it’d be a way to pass the time, right? It’s not like anyone’s going anywhere anytime soon. Jumping in with both feet, she drafts a new iMessage and hopes for the best.

> _Nice to meet you, Robb Stark. I’m Rhaenys._


	9. rhaenys and jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Can you please do a Aegon and Rhaenys vs Jon fic about them hating, tolerating and then growing fond of each other as siblings? I love your fics, they're amazing.
> 
> Another anon asked: You’re an amazing writer! I love all your AU’s with rhaenys. Could you do one with Jon Snow and rhaenys? Kinda angsty but not too sad

His whole life, the fact that he has half-siblings is little more than a nebulous idea to to him. That those half-siblings are royals, that one of them sits the  _Iron Throne_  while he’s a bastard in Winterfell is nearly impossible to wrap his head around. He knows who his parents were, and he knows that he shares one of them with the king and princess, and he knows that there must be thousands of people with royal blood in Westeros, yet still he thinks surely there must be a mistake. Lyanna Stark being his mother he can comprehend; he has her look, Uncle Ned says so all the time. Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen being his father, however…

For fourteen years, he more or less tries to pretend they don’t exist. It’s easier that way. And then one day Ned tells them all that he received a letter, one sealed with a three-headed dragon.

“King Aegon will be making a progress to the North,” he says. Normally stoic, Jon can see the uncertainty in his uncle’s face and knows he’s remembering the war he so rarely talks about. “He says he has made progresses elsewhere in the realm but as he reaches his age of majority a year hence, he wishes to have seen every kingdom before he becomes sovereign over them all. Princess Rhaenys will be accompanying him.”

“The queen?” Aunt Catelyn asks.

Ned skims the text again and shakes his head. “It makes no mention of her.”

Jon can’t tell whether Catelyn is relieved or disappointed. Queen Elia had allowed Ned to live, but she had also executed Catelyn’s father. Though Jon does not doubt she would have been the pinnacle of politeness had the queen chosen to come along, he wonders what her internal feelings would have been.

Sansa begins effusing about how exciting it will all be, and then the rest of his cousins chime in with comments of their own, but Jon stays silent. Will he be expected to keep himself out of sight during their visit? Probably. He’s still a bastard, after all, never mind who his kin are. He wonders if this is how the illegitimate children of previous kings had felt. Caught between wanting to be included, and wanting to be ignored.

He ultimately refrains from being in the crowd that greets them, but it turns out not to matter. After the feast, Princess Rhaenys corners him in the yard, appraising him much like she might a pebble in her shoe.

“So you’re the bastard,” she sneers. “You don’t look like much.”

It’s true enough. He’s no Robb or, so he’s heard, his uncle Brandon who’d died before he was born. He searches his half-sister for any resemblance, but there is little to be found. Not in her Martell coloring nor her undeniable beauty, nor the imperious way she holds herself, not even the slope of her nose or the thickness of her hair. They are as different as the earth from the sky. Not that he’d resembles King Aegon either.

“It’s said I have Lord Eddard’s look.”

“Your mother’s, you mean,” says the princess. “Hard to believe my father set off a civil war for  _you_.”

The anger in him rises enough to want to fire off a retort, but then he notices something in her voice that he hadn’t before. There isn’t just disdain for him, although that’s there too, but  _hurt_. It’s not  _Jon_  she’s furious with. It’s a revelation that nearly knocks him off his feet. He could never say it to her face, of course, but realizing that he’s the primary object of her resentment not only because of his existence but because their sire is long dead, it’s a heady feeling.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he answers. “I could not say why.”

“I  _know_  why,” she says, but she doesn’t elaborate. Honestly, he doesn’t much care. If she knew anything about his mother, he would beg her for information, no matter how cruelly she said it, but Prince Rhaegar he would rather forget. She looks him up and down once more, scoffs, then strides off with a swish of her skirts. She doesn’t say another word to him for the rest of the trip.

* * *

The wedding is in King’s Landing, though he’s heard there would be another, much smaller, ceremony in the godswood later as well. He had almost decided to stay behind—he has little interest in the capital—but Robb has been as close as a brother their entire lives, and he can’t miss something like this.

And…well. Rhaenys may despise him, but she’s still his sister, and is about to become his good-cousin on top of that.

Uncle Ned initially wants to do the same as Jon, as he had when they went south for King Aegon’s wedding (the  _others_ , that is; Jon had elected to not darken their doorsteps), but both Robb and Aunt Catelyn had coerced him out of that decision. He doesn’t speak much on the way down, and so it is Aunt Catelyn who takes control.

(Robb is a nervous bundle of energy the entire way, but a happy one.)

The capital is expansive, and the architecture much different from the North’s, but the smell is  _awful_  and altogether it’s about what he expected. It is Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard who greets them at the gates; he’s unequivocally the most handsome man Jon’s ever seen, and beside him he hears Sansa breathe in an audible gasp. Bran stares up at him in awe, not for his appearance but for his position, and Jon’s reminded of how much his cousin has always desired to be a member of the realm’s most prestigious order of knights.

“Come,” says Ser Jaime genially.

As Robb’s family, they’ve been given rooms in Maegor’s Holdfast—even Jon. He wonders whose decision that had been. Probably Robb’s. Perhaps even the king’s, who has been neutrally cordial to him.

It’s a beautiful ceremony, he has to admit, and he  _is_  pleased to see Rhaenys giddy, something she certainly hadn’t been the last time he saw her. It is surprising to all when Robb is approached with a golden coronet not by the High Septon, but by the queen.

“This was my father’s crown,” she says. “You will be not only the consort to a princess of the realm, but a princess of Dorne. So long as you treat my daughter with the same regard as my father did for my mother, it is yours.”

Robb swears to do just that, and Queen Elia reverently places the crown on his head. It is bizarre to see Robb with such an adornment, but he knows that Rhaenys’s status matters not to him.

Afterwards, they stand on the marble plaza of the Great Sept to accept congratulations from all the courtiers, and although Jon is hesitant, the voice in his head convinces him to join them.  _Robb is your blood, and so is Rhaenys._

Robb hugs him like a brother, and Jon next moves to Rhaenys. “I wish you both well.”

He had thought they’d turned over a new leaf at the tourney a few years back when he’d crowned Queen Elia, but her face falls nonetheless. He starts to move on, figuring she intends to say nothing, but then she touches his arm, ever so briefly. “Thank you,” she says. She glances at Robb and her smile reappears. “I have found happiness.”

“I am pleased to hear it, Your Grace.”

She pauses a moment, then replies, “Rhaenys. It seems we are cousins now, you may as well call me by my name.”

 _We’re siblings, too_ , he almost says, but doesn’t. The concession—for he knows that’s what it is—is what he has longed for since he was a child. “Yes, it seems we are.”

* * *

They never become… _close_ , exactly, but between her own softening and Robb being their shared kin, there grows a tenuous truce between them. He has been on good terms with Aegon for a long while now, but Rhaenys had always been a tougher nut to crack, she who still remembers having sole possession of their father’s attention before everything went wrong. Before Jon.

She even reluctantly allows him to hold her first child when they visit Winterfell, a girl who is the very image of a Martell, save for the eyes that, while darker than Robb’s, are unmistakably blue. His niece, though Jon doesn’t say that. He had held Aegon’s babes, too, yet somehow it is Rhaenys’s approval that remains the thing he most desires.

The Ironborn mount a rebellion not long after Aegon passes reform that would severely limit the ability for their raiding parties, and the North sends troops to aid the crown’s forces, troops that Jon joins in part to fight at Robb’s side. Robb’s, and Aegon’s. Many had discouraged the king from participating, but he had declared that a sovereign should not send his people to fight battles he is unwilling to fight himself, and if he should fall he has an heir who could succeed him.

Somehow, they all survive the war, though not without casualties; fortunately, far more for the Ironborn than for the crown. It isn’t conscious thought on Jon’s part to take a blow to the chest for Aegon, yet take it he does. Later, after Aegon himself bestows a knighthood upon him and they return to the capital, Rhaenys pulls him aside.

“You saved my brother’s life. Thank you.”

“He’s my brother, too,” Jon points out, “and the king.”

He expects her to qualify his words, but she doesn’t; instead, she bites her lip then kisses him on the cheek, so quickly he has to convince himself it happened at all.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” she says. “I—I’d never thought how it would feel to…to lose  _two_  brothers.”

She runs off after that without looking back, and it takes a week for Jon to stop smiling.


	10. friends with benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a word meme.
> 
> Anon asked: Rhaenys/Robb + Dusk?

She’s been with him long enough—well  _been with_  is a loose term—to know it’s best to leave before he fully recovers, yet tonight, leaving means she has to study for her midterm, and staying in his arms for an extra moment is much more enticing. At least, until he speaks.

“Is this it?” he asks, in that quiet way that puts dread in the pit of her stomach.

She thinks of cracking a joke, pointing out that no way could three rounds in two hours be termed anything other than  _amazing_ , but she knows this isn’t the time. With a sigh, she gets off the bed and starts to locate her clothes; studying doesn’t sound so bad right now.

“Robb, we’ve talked about this,” she says. “I thought we agreed there would be no strings.”

His words come out in a rush. “What if I want strings?”

“Then join a marionette club. Or find another girl, because I  _don’t_  want them.”

He looks determined rather than hurt, which is worse. “I don’t believe you,” he says. “This isn’t just sex anymore, not for me and not for you either, I know it. We’ve been in this…limbo for a long time, half-hooking up and half-something else.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, pulling her shirt over her head. “If you want to claim you have feelings for me, then whatever, but don’t drag me into it.”

He stands, the better to face her, seemingly content to have this conversation despite having not a stitch of clothing on. It had been what first attracted her to him, his confidence; she’d only discovered later how vulnerable he could be, too, how much he second-guesses himself.

Without another word, he closes their distance in two quick steps and kisses her, impossibly gentle despite his resolve. She resists at first—god _damn it_ , she’s trying to set things straight here—but as ever, she feels her traitorous body relaxing into it, enjoying its sweetness as much as she’d enjoyed their earlier passion, and when she pulls away she only barely stops herself from reaching for him again.

“That was not nothing,” he says. “Look, this isn’t easy for me either, okay? After everything, I thought I’d never go down this road especially with you of all people, but when you suggested this, I figured there’d be no harm in it, and then…”

“What, you love me or something now?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Robb.”

“That’s exactly what,” he says. “I love you, Rhae, so much it scares me.”

She stares at him, absolutely floored. She intends to say something snarky, or mean, or  _something_ , but instead what comes out is, “You can’t.”

“What do you mean I  _can’t_?” he asks. “You don’t get to choose who you fall in love with, it doesn’t work that way.”

“My dad slept with your aunt,” she snaps. “I’m the last person you should love. Go find, I don’t know, that Alys girl from our social psych class for someone to love you back. She’s already got a thing for you, you wouldn’t even have to try.”

“I don’t want Alys Karstark. I want you.”

“Well, what  _I_  want is your dick, not your heart,” she says. “But fine, I’ll find someone who won’t get all  _emotional_.”

He’s silent for several moments, and then gets an expression on his face that makes her take a step back. “I’m not going to leave you, Rhaenys,” he says quietly. “I’m not going to hurt you, there won’t be anyone else.”

Panic rises in her chest. This is too much, she wants  _simple_ , she wants  _easy_ , she can’t deal with this. He reads her too well, and it paralyzes her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. She intends it to be harsh, but her voice merely sounds small. “Just stop it.”

The panic finally overtakes her, and she runs out before he can say another word of the truth.

* * *

She hadn’t realized quite how much she  _did_  talk to him until she doesn’t. More than once she finds herself reaching for her phone after someone in one of her classes does something ridiculous or to complain about how Sarella hacked her Facebook again just for fun, or to ask him if she can bounce some ideas off him for her final paper coming up. She deletes his number, but it’s no good; she’d memorized it long ago.

Somehow Mother knows something’s up (not  _what_ , thank God), and Rhaenys wishes she could tell her, or tell her some of it at least, because she knows Mother would say all the right things. At least, she would if Robb were any other boy.

Worst of all, she can’t get his words out of her head, his proclamation. It eats at her until she can think of hardly anything else, certainly not about schoolwork. Finally, fed up with herself, she storms to Robb’s dorm to find some sort of closure with all this nonsense. She has a whole speech planned, in fact. Not even his look of shock or his roommate Theon’s crude innuendoes as he leaves the room quells her.

Except that once they’re alone, she can’t remember a single syllable of her carefully crafted speech. All she knows is Robb, in her midst for the first time in weeks.

“If you’ve come here to say you don’t reciprocate, don’t bother,” he says dejectedly. “I heard you the first time.”

“You were right, okay?” she bursts out. “I’m hung up on what happened. If I keep you at arm’s length it means it will never happen to me like it happened to my mother. I will never be shamed. I can’t stop the fear that I’ll have to endure the same thing. Maybe it’s unfair, but I don’t care. I need a wall around me, I  _have_  to. I can’t just…throw caution to the wind like you do, and I can’t let my mother be hurt either.”

“I told you, I’m not your father.”

“Dad said the same thing, and look what he did. How am I supposed to trust you, or any man?”

“I’ll prove it to you,” he says, nothing but earnestness in his eyes. “Just give me a shot.”

“How?” she asks. “How do I just forget everything?”

“Not forget. Move forward. I’m Robb and you’re Rhaenys, and we’ll go from there.”

“I’m not ready for…love.”

He smiles the smile that makes her stomach swoop. “I’ll wait for you.”


	11. robb asks arthur for marriage approval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @bbnightengale asked: Arthur and Robb conversation? I just love Elia/Arthur and Robb/Rhaenys and I can't decide if an Arthur & Robb scene would be funny because Robb is meeting the sword of the morning, or his possible step father in law lol

Robb finds him in the armory at first light, where Arthur sits polishing his sword. He glances up to find the boy looking at once anxious and excited, with a healthy dose of exhaustion, as though he hadn’t slept. He simply stands there, not speaking, and Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“How can I help you, Robb?” he asks, growing mildly alarmed at how pale he is. “Are you well?”

“Yes, I’m well,” says Robb. “That is, not exactly, no, not at all.”

Arthur frowns. “Is your family all right? I saw your lady mother just last night and she did not seem worse for wear.”

“No, it’s not them, no one’s ill, it’s...” Robb swallows. “It’s Rhaenys.  _Princess_  Rhaenys, I mean.”

“What about her?” He hasn’t noticed her acting unusual either, let alone at Robb’s level of discomfort. “You should sit down, you look faint.”

“I can’t, I’ve rehearsed this all in my head and it’s already not going as planned,” he laments.

“As planned?”

Robb is petrified, something Arthur’s never seen on him before, yet he does manage to stammer out some words. “I-I—I’ve grown very...fond of the princess and I know she is of me as well and I...I’ve come to ask for her hand, ser. She’s already agreed, but...”

Arthur would laugh, if the boy weren’t so sincere—and terrified. “Why have you come to me? You should be asking this of the queen and Lord Stark. I have no say in these matters.”

“I know you’re close to the queen,” he says delicately. “And you’re the closest thing Rhaenys has to a father.”

 _You don’t know the half of it_ , Arthur thinks.

“What if I refuse?” he asks. “What if Elia does?”

Robb’s face falls. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine marrying anyone else, and the thought of her wedding some Lannister or Tyrell or someone is—”

“Agonizing,” Arthur fills in, all too aware of that very feeling. “Well, I will give you my approval, for what little that’s worth. I think you’re a good man, Robb. Though you should know that if you ever hurt her, I’ll run you through.”

He’s only half-serious, but what little color was left in Robb’s face drains. “I would never—I won’t—I couldn’t—”

“Calm down,” Arthur chuckles. “Save all that for Her Grace.”

“What do you expect she’ll say?” Robb asks in trepidation.

“I cannot speak for her,” he says. “But she knows you are no more at fault for what happened all those years ago than Elia herself, and she’s never wanted Rhaenys to marry someone out of duty rather than love. I wouldn’t say your chances are as bad as you think. Don’t lose hope just yet.”

Robb tries to restrain the grin that spreads across his face, but it fails spectacularly. “Thank you, Ser Arthur. This means everything to me.”

Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder. “Rhaenys’s happiness is all that matters.”

Robb nods, bids him farewell, and practically skips out of the room. Arthur smiles.


	12. jon and aegon play matchmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @babycakesbriauna asked: Can you write where Jon plays match maker to Robb x Rhaenys? I love you Robb x Rhaenys fics. You are doing a service to the world.

He doesn’t quite know how he got here, pretending to be engrossed in bowling while looking over his shoulder every seven seconds as he waits for his half-siblings to arrive so he can set up his sister with his cousin.

It sounds so absurd, so  _ludicrous_ , what with everything that had happened. It had been Egg who approached him first about it, telling him that Rhaenys had been morose for months—morose and  _furious_ , that is—after finding out her boyfriend had not been the person she thought he was.

 _What am I supposed to do about it?_  Jon had asked.

 _I thought your cousin might be good for her_ , had been the response.  _It sounds weird, I know, but just think about it._

Jon had echoed that sentiment—Robb and  _Rhaenys_? He’d blown Egg off entirely, but his brother’s proposal had stuck with him. Robb  _is_  the best man Jon’s ever known, after all, and Jon knows he too has been having a rough time of it after Jeyne moved away abruptly and never answered his texts or calls. He can’t imagine there’s a girl Robb wouldn’t be good for, but he can’t say it would go two ways. He and Rhaenys have  _always_  been at odds; hell, he’s only met her four times in his entire life.

But…he  _does_  know Egg, more or less. He wouldn’t call it a friendship by any means, but there’s a truce between them. And, well. Worst case, Robb and Rhaenys don’t like each other, right? Plus, Egg was the one who started the whole thing, not him. Rhaenys might blame him, because of course she would, but he doesn’t think Robb would.

Jon glances once more at the door while Robb steps up to the line for his turn, and this time, he sees them walk through. Rhaenys laughs at something Egg says to her, and it occurs to Jon that he’s never seen that before; she’s never done anything but scowl the other times he’s seen her.

Robb gets a strike, but distracted as he is, Jon gets no more than six pins combined on his turn, and Robb ribs him good-naturedly. “Rickon’s better competition than you,” he jokes. “You’re not usually such a bad player, are you sick or something?”

“I’m fine, I just…”

_No time like the present._

He jerks his head in the direction of Egg and Rhaenys who have pulled on their shoes and are heading to the lanes. “Do you want to leave?” Robb asks, concerned. “We only have a few rounds left anyway.”

“I’m not eight anymore,” Jon grumbles. “I can face my own siblings.”

Jon catches Egg’s eye and gives a small nod. Egg nudges his sister, who instantly zeroes in on them, and her expression instantly sours. “What are  _you_  doing here?” she snaps.

“Bowling.”

Rhaenys glances up at the TV screen and snorts. “If you call that score ‘bowling.’”

“Good to see you, too, sister.” Jon wants to say more than that, but then remembers why he’s here in the first place.

“Can I talk to you?” Egg interjects, as planned. He takes Jon by the elbow and they walk away from the lanes to the rack of bowling balls, well out of earshot. Egg gives him a conspiratorial smile. “Well, that’s step one.”


	13. fake dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: COUGH COUGH um u need to get back to ur prime and write us some robb/rhaenys faking a relationship for christmas, jk youre always in ur prime but sis we need fics with rhaenys and ginger boi, my queen only u can stop our deprivation its been a long time
> 
> [I changed this to Thanksgiving since it was more timely.]

“Three…two…one…aaaand, break has officially begun,” Robb declares, happily shoving everything in his backpack. “No more accounting class for a  _week_.”

“I’d  _rather_  have accounting,” grumbles Rhaenys. “I have Thanksgiving at my dad’s this year. And my grandfather’s coming, so  _double_  the fun.”

The wind picks up as they head outside, making it colder than it already was and setting Rhaenys to scowling. “Sorry,” says Robb sympathetically. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m going to have to suffer through everyone asking me if I’ve found a girl yet. Just because I haven’t had a date since high school doesn’t mean—”

Robb stops with a grunt as Rhaenys hits him in the chest. “That’s  _perfect_!” she exclaims. “If you invite me to Thanksgiving, I can pretend to be your girlfriend. I’ll have an excuse not to endure forced conversation, and you can get your family to lay off. We both win.”

She’s never met Robb’s family before, but from the way he talks about them, she knows she’d certainly have a much more enjoyable time there than with her own. If it were at Mom’s, that’d be one thing—Aunt Mellario with a few drinks in her is her favorite part—but it’s not. She could put up with snowdrifts for a day, given the alternative.

Robb considers, and then a smile slowly spreads. “I like it. Backstory’s easy, too. The truth, just…trussed up a little. And Jon’s met you before, so it’s not like you’d be coming out of nowhere.”

“I’ll bring some of my uncle Oberyn’s special cider,” she says. “Not quite as potent as his eggnog, but that’s for the best, trust me.”

He links his arm with hers and proclaims, “Fake dating. Should be easy.”

* * *

She doesn’t bother lying to her mother about the whole charade. Though Mom puts up a half-hearted protest about how she shouldn’t invent a relationship just to get out of Thanksgiving, there’s not much sincerity in it, especially with the news about Grandfather. It does take several rounds of convincing her that Robb’s just a  _friend_ , but ultimately she  _is_  convinced and forks over Oberyn’s recipe.

Driving together is Robb’s idea, and Rhaenys doesn’t object; she’d rather shower with a bear than drive in snow and ice. Mrs. Stark greets them both with exuberance when they finally arrive, and dusts off her hands of flour before hugging Rhaenys.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Stark.”

“You must be Rhaenys,” she replies warmly. “Robb did say he’d be bringing someone this year.”

“I’m just ‘someone’ now?” she asks Robb. She playfully swats his shoulder and clarifies, “I’m his girlfriend, actually.”

His mother looks much like a cat who’s just caught a canary. “Oh  _are_  you? How marvelous. He didn’t mention that part.”

Robb feigns contrition. “It’s kinda new, we’ve only been dating six weeks. And after Jeyne…”

“ _Still_ ,” chides Catelyn. “Now come inside, you’re letting all the heat out.”

When Catelyn turns her back to lead them through the house, Rhaenys shares a grin with Robb. “Here goes nothing,  _boyfriend_.”

* * *

Everything proceeds as intended through the prep, dinner itself, and even dessert, their lie going off without a hitch—except to Jon, who subtly rolls his eyes with every faked anecdote. Robb’s youngest sister takes to her immediately, especially after Rhaenys mentions her love of horses, and even his father, who doesn’t say much, seems to like her. She goes over better than the boy Arya brought home, anyway, who doesn’t appear to know  _any_  of the right things to say. As a fellow non-family member, Rhaenys tries to throw him lifelines, but he keeps missing them.

Yes, it’s all going well—at least, until the night winds down and she announces they should get back on the road.

“Don’t be silly,” says Catelyn. “I don’t want you driving when it’s dark out like this.”

Robb snorts. “Mom, I’ve driven on ice in the dark before, it’s no big deal.”

“ _You_  may be fine, but you don’t know who else is going to be out there. No, we’ve got plenty of room, you and Rhaenys will just stay here tonight.”

_This was definitely not the plan._

“I appreciate the offer,” says Rhaenys, “but I promised my mom I’d be back.”

Catelyn waves her off. “I’m more than happy to call her, if you’d like. Speaking as a mother, I can’t imagine yours would want you to drive in these conditions any more than I do.”

She’s right.  _Annoyingly_  right. She’d be in for an earful if Mom knew.

Seeing no other choice, she yields. “All right, then. I can take the couch.”

“Oh no,  _Gendry_  is taking the couch,” says Catelyn instantly. “You’ll stay with Robb, I trust you both.”

“Mom, really it’s fine—”

“Mrs. Stark, I can room with Arya—”

Catelyn looks between them both curiously. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you  _want_  to sleep apart.”

 _Yeah,_ really _not going to plan._

“I…okay, I guess,” says Rhaenys. More than anything she doesn’t want their deception to be discovered. There’s a perfectly good floor in Robb’s room, in any event. “I’ll just let my mom know I’m staying over.”

“Wonderful,” says Catelyn. “I’ll get you a pair of Sansa’s pajamas for you to wear, and there’s some spare toothbrushes in the bathroom.”

“Thank you.”

Once she and Robb are safely behind closed doors, she complains, “So I see you’re the golden boy?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “More like Arya tends to have a…rebellious streak. And she likes you. Mom never let Jeyne and me sleep in the same room.”

“Figures. The girlfriend who  _isn’t_  a girlfriend is the one who gets parental approval.”

“Suck it up, Rhae,” Robb chuckles, tossing a toothbrush at her. “It’s just one night.”

She glares at him, but takes the toothbrush.

As it turns out, she ends up without the bed anyway, finding herself on the losing end of their best-of-three game of rock-paper-scissors, but just as she’s about to set up the floor with blankets and pillows, Catelyn knocks on the door. She quickly abandons her efforts and scurries under the comforter in order to maintain their cover.

“God, your feet are  _freezing_ ,” Robb hisses.

“Shut  _up_.”

Rhaenys gets her phone out to fake a text the moment before Catelyn lets herself in. “All settled?”

“Mhm,” says Robb. “We’re—yep.”

“Great,” Catelyn smiles. “Well, I just wanted to say good night. If you hear Arya or Gendry—”

“ _Mom._ ”

“Okay, okay, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night.”

“Good night, Mrs. Stark.”

Catelyn flips off the light as she exits, and Rhaenys starts to get off the bed to finish setting up the floor. “Just stay,” says Robb. “The bed is big enough for us both, and if my mom catches you down there, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He’s right, the bed is plenty big, and she must admit she’s rather  _not_  sleep on the floor if she had her choice. Besides, what does it matter? Robb’s her friend. It’s no different than sharing a bed with her cousins.

“Yeah, all right. Thanks.”

She falls asleep in short order, her on one side, him far to the other, though it only lasts for a few hours before she’s awakened by a thump outside. A thump that sounds suspiciously like someone stumbling over a stair.

She laughs to herself.  _Arya._

It’s as she’s wondering whether she should say something that she realizes she’s no longer safely across the bed from Robb. In fact, somehow she’d ended up flush against him, his arm slung over her middle. His deep breaths tell her he’s not in the same predicament—awake, that is—and really, she should elbow him to get him to move. This isn’t remotely a position she’d experienced with any of her cousins.

But…well, he’s warm, and she can’t seem to summon the energy to shrug him off. What’s the harm, anyway? It’s not like this was on  _purpose_ ; neither of them could blame the other. He’s just an affectionate sleeper, that’s all. There are worse things.

Despite all her self-assurances, the next morning, she can’t convince herself it didn’t bother her. All she can think about as she watches him brush his teeth is the feel of him against her, and she begins to get very  _un_ -just-friends thoughts, begins to notice that he  _is_  incredibly handsome, especially with his hair all a mess like that, and that gray looks good on him and…

“I’m gonna go downstairs and say hi to everyone,” she announces abruptly, all but flying out of the room before he can say anything.

Unfortunately, as soon as the pleasantries are exchanged, she hears a string of words she wishes she hadn’t. “It snowed another few feet last night, so the roads are closed,” says Catelyn. “Looks like you’ll have to stay another day.”

Rhaenys blanches. Another day means another  _night_.

Fuck.


	14. kiss cam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Hi, Prompt: "Rhae, please stop sucking that strangers face. You're not even on the kiss cam anymore!"

“I dare you to kiss him.”

“You are relentless,” Rhaenys groans. For months now, her cousin has been trying to get her back in the romance game, and her efforts have become more and more ridiculous as time goes on. “I’m not going to  _kiss_  him. That’s called sexual harassment, Ari.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, he’s totally into you. Besides, the Kiss Cam should be coming up at the next TV timeout, it’s the perfect excuse.”

“I’m not kissing a complete stranger.”

Technically, she’s not sure if he counts as a stranger. They’d high-fived the first time the home team had scored and after that had talked on and off, as Arianne had done with the guy he’d brought with him. Or  _tried_  to do—Arianne’s lucky to get five-word answers out of him. But even though Rhaenys’s conversation partner has been far more forthcoming, it’s not like they’ve shared anything of consequence. Mostly they’ve just shit-talked the other team. She hardly knows his name, let alone anything else.

“Come on, live a little!” says Arianne. “For  _once_.”

“What’s  _that_  supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” says Arianne. “ _Quent_  has bigger balls than you.”

“That’s uncalled for.”

“Then prove me wrong,” says Arianne, waggling her eyebrows.

“No.”

“What if I pay you? Seriously. I’ll give you twenty bucks.”

Rhaenys narrows her eyes. “Why does this matter so much to you? I can find my own dates.”

“Yeah, but you  _don’t_.” Arianne gets up from her seat with a sigh and heads towards the aisle. “I’m going to the restroom, and when I get back I’m going to convince you of this.”

“I’m  _not_  doing that!” Rhaenys yells at her retreating back.

“Doing what?”

Rhaenys turns to her left, seeing amusement on her new neighbor’s face. “Nothing. Ari dared me to do something, that’s all.”

“What’d she dare you?” Robb laughs.

Rhaenys has to fight down a blush. She considers lying, but then figures that if she tells him then he’ll say no just as she had and she can get Arianne off her back. “She wants me to kiss you when the Kiss Cam comes around. Said she’d give me twenty dollars to do it. I’m not going to, don’t worry.”

She expects him to brush it aside, perhaps even thank her for her refusal, but instead he tilts his head in consideration. “Sounds pretty painless,” he says. “Cut me in for half and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Excuse me?” she splutters. “We don’t even know each other.”

“What, do you have herpes or something?”

“No,” Rhaenys objects. “You really have no problem with this?”

Robb shrugs. “I’m always up for easy cash. And the look on Jon’s face will be priceless. Besides, the cam probably wouldn’t even go on us anyway. There’s plenty of actual couples in the arena.”

“That’s a good point,” she says. She hadn’t even thought about that part. This is  _crazy_. But…it  _would_  get Arianne to shut up, and if he’s okay with it… “All right then.”

She shakes his hand for good measure, and steadfastly ignores the way her stomach flips when he grins at her. Fortunately, she’s saved from saying anything else by Arianne’s return. “Well?” she asks. “You gonna man up or what?”

“On the  _cheek_ ,” Rhaenys says. “I will kiss him on the  _cheek_. That’s all you’re getting.”

“Fine, have it your way,” Arianne huffs. “You’re no fun.”

“There’s like thirty thousand people in this place,” says Rhaenys. “You’re making a big fuss over something that probably won’t happen.”

A devious smile spreads across Arianne’s face. “Oh, it will. I didn’t actually go to the bathroom. I found one of the cameramen and they said they’d get you two.”

Rhaenys would very much like to melt into the floor. Of course.  _Of course._ One of these days, she needs to learn not to underestimate her cousin. She could still back out, granted, there’s nothing  _forcing_  her to do this, but…well, she  _had_ promised him half of the money.

She can hardly concentrate on the game as the final period begins, and she prays that maybe they won’t do the cam at all, or they’d disregard Arianne’s request. But then Faith Hill’s “This Kiss” comes on over the loudspeakers—how  _cliché_ —and Rhaenys watches as two couples comply for the camera. Then, to her utter horror, she finds herself, and Robb, on the screen in frightening high-definition.

Arianne shoves her with a whoop of encouragement. She gets the courage to turn to Robb, but is otherwise frozen. He doesn’t seem to have the same problem: he leans in and presses his lips to hers, gentle and without hesitation. Reminding herself that this is to spite Arianne and doesn’t mean anything, she throws her caution to the wind. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she kisses him back with fervor. The sound of the crowd fades into nothing; she’d meant it to be short, a show for the cameras, but she feels herself giving in to it, feels  _him_ giving in to it. She can’t remember the last time a kiss had felt like this, so…so… _consuming_. All rational thought leaves her head, all she wants is  _more_ , except—

“Rhae!” The shout is right in her ear, drilling into her fog of desire. “Stop sucking face! Jesus, you’re not even on the jumbotron anymore.”

Rhaenys pulls away—or, rather, is  _pulled_  away—and can do nothing but stare at Robb, at once mortified and overwhelmed. She’s stopped from full-blown panic only by the fact that he looks just as disoriented. His blue eyes bore into hers, as though trying to find an answer there that she can’t give.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to get so…”

“Yeah, I—yeah.”

“You live to make me uncomfortable, don’t you?” comes Jon’s voice from Robb’s other side. With effort, Robb tears his eyes from hers and turns to address his cousin. Rhaenys can’t hear what they’re saying, however, for Arianne equally draws her attention, withdrawing her wallet and thrusting two crisp ten-dollar bills into her hand.

“Here, you earned it,” she snorts. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

Rhaenys manages to make herself sound nonchalant. “I trust that’ll be the last time you say Quentyn has more guts than I do.”

“Fair enough,” says Arianne. “Just know that I’ll be recounting every minute of that to Tyene later.”

“Whatever.”

Arianne moves her attention back to the game, but Rhaenys finds it difficult to track the players’ movements, preoccupied by how her lips still burn, by the memory of how he’d felt, by how much she wants to kiss him again.

She glances over at him, to find him doing the same thing. She swallows and hands him one of the bills. “As promised.”

He takes it, his hand lingering on hers. “Thanks.”

“Maybe we should talk about…that,” she says quickly. “You know, after the game. Or something.”

Robb nods. “Might be a good idea.”

Meet up they do, but there is not much talking to be had.


	15. robb goes to war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a word meme.
> 
> Anon asked: robb/rhaenys 39 or 40, whichever one u prefer <3

> _40\. separation_

They’d been apart before, but nothing like this. Trips he would take to Winterfell, those were miserable, but at least she knew he would come back from them. This…she’s trying to stay positive, for the children at least, but… _war_. In all of Aegon’s reign there had never been such a declaration. Minor quibbles that were easily squashed, for certain, but never  _war_. They’d all guessed that the Ironborn would chafe at the new sanctions for reaving, but no one had anticipated a coup.

She feels like she’s a glass about to break, and in turn feels weak. How must it have been for her forebears who suffered through  _generations_  of war? Her forebears who had known unthinkable loss? Father had been killed in a war, so had half of her good-father’s family, but Mother had sheltered her from it all; Rhaenys hardly remembers Father himself, let alone the Rebellion.

To make it worse, Aegon had gotten it in his head to go as well. For noble reasons, but  _stupid_ , so far as she’s concerned. It makes no difference to her that he will have protectors, just as Robb will, for even the strongest of men are no match for a quarrel through the heart or a sword to the stomach. A slick spot in the grass may mean defeat, or what you ate for supper the night before, Ser Barristan used to say.

They had left three days ago and already it feels like a lifetime. Dawn’s pale light has only just starting to creep through the window, her ladies not yet awake, and Rhaenys stares at herself in the mirror. No one has yet noticed the faint distension of her belly, but she has. The night before Robb left, she’d wrestled with whether to tell him or not, but had ultimately decided against it. He would have enough on his mind without worrying about her, too.

Their lovemaking had been more ardent than usual, spurred by imminent separation and, unbeknownst to him, the babe inside her that like all the others had made her insatiable. She hadn’t wanted to let him out of their bed even for a moment, as though if she kept him there his responsibilities would just go away.

She wonders how long this war would last. Six moons? A year? Five years? Would he miss it all? Would he return to find a babe in her arms he’d never known about? Would he return to find that Aliandra has become a woman grown and not the little girl he’d left? Or would he not return at all?

He’d never missed the birth of one of their children before, and they had all come out healthy—his being gone feels like an ill omen. For the babe, and for her. Grandmother had nearly died with Dany, and Mother had always been delicate; what if Rhaenys is to follow in the same path? What if it is not Robb who will perish, but her?

She eases herself onto the edge of the bed, wishing he were here to calm her fears. He always knew what to say, even when he didn’t. And Aegon was near as good, Aegon who has panic attacks of his own. She has been blessed to have a husband and brother who love her in equal measure, and perhaps the gods do not believe her worthy of such a thing. Perhaps they are punishing her by punishing them.

 _No_ , she commands herself.  _Do not think such things._

She presses her knuckles into her temples to try to ward off the barrage of what-ifs that are threatening to surge forth, but it doesn’t work. Not bothering to even put on a dressing robe, she runs from her room, through the halls, and bursts into her mother’s chambers.

Mother nearly jumps out of her skin at the entrance, having been peacefully picking out a gown to wear, but the surprise instantly turns into worry. “Baby, are you all right? What’s happened?”

“What if he doesn’t come back?”

She is well past her thirtieth name day, had drafted reforms that were enacted largely by her own hand, had not withered at the most intimidating of lords, yet here in the presence of her mother she feels like a child again asking why Papa had left.

Without a word, Mother crosses the room and holds her, in the same way that had always made her feel like things could turn out all right no matter how bad they were. She closes her eyes and lets the scent of Mother’s lotions wash over her, lets herself relax into her comfort.

Mother’s voice is soft but sure as she gently strokes Rhaenys’s hair. “He  _will_.”

“How do you  _know_?”

“The same way I know Arthur will come back,” she answers simply. “Love, and faith. The gods themselves couldn’t keep Robb from you and the children.”

“Do you promise?”

Mother chuckles. “I  _promise_ , my little starfish.”

She knows Mother has no control over a war, over  _anything_ , and yet as rays of sunlight spread across the floor, she feels her panic begin to ebb.


	16. lingerie shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Hi. Prompt for Robb/Rhaenys. Lingerie shopping. Feel free to add smut.

“Think I could rock this?”

Rhaenys glances over to see Robb holding up a hanger with a scrap of fabric that’s meant to pass for a man thong. “Would you  _focus_ , please?”

He replaces the hanger with a roll of his eyes. “You know, when you said you were going lingerie shopping, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“I told you I needed to get a present for Arianne’s bachelorette party,” she says imperiously. “Not my fault your brain shorted out after the word ‘lingerie.’”

“I don’t see why you need me here,” he says. “How am I supposed to know what would get Daemon’s rocks off?”

“Well,” says Rhaenys in fake contemplation, “you  _could_  go with your sister and Tyene to vet the male strippers instead, if that’s more up your alley.”

Robb grimaces. “No, thanks.”

“Thought not.” One hand full of clothing options, she grabs his arm with the other and tugs him towards the fitting rooms. “I’m going to try these on and you’re going to tell me what you think. Don’t get any ideas—these are for Ari.”

The fitting room attendant doesn’t even bother waving them through, preoccupied as she is with making various Snapchat poses and popping her gum. He dutifully waits outside as Rhaenys changes into the first of her many choices. A few moments later she opens the door, and he has to bite back a groan at the sight of her in a violet corset.

“Yes? No?”

It is only with phenomenal effort that he manages to remind himself that Rhaenys is merely a model and that she wouldn’t be taking this home. “I, uh, yeah, Daemon would be fine with it.”

“Hmm.” Rhaenys looks at herself in the mirror, checking out the fabric and the fit. “Nah, I’m not sure it’s quite tasteful enough.”

She shuts the door in his face and starts to change into something else. He prays for strength.

* * *

It’s all he can do not to devour her as the minutes crawl by, Rhaenys looking more and more delectable with each passing outfit and putting even the most beautiful pinups to shame.  _God_ , Daemon owes him for this. This time when Rhaenys opens the door, she stands there in a pink teddy made purely of sheer lace.

“It’s—” Robb frowns as he fully registers the color. “Wait, doesn’t Arianne hate pink?”

“Yes,” says Rhaenys, checking to see how well—or  _not_  well—the lace covers her ass. “But I don’t.”

“But that’s not  _for_  you.”

Rhaenys turns to him with the most self-satisfied grin he’s ever seen. “Oh, I got Ari’s gift a week ago. This trip has been payback for that dinner date you missed last month.”

Robb stares at her, gobsmacked. “For the—I apologized for that! I’d lost track of time.”

“Your mother was most disappointed when I told her,” says Rhaenys. “She suggested I make you regret it, so here we are.” She takes one look at his face and bursts out in laughter. “Cheer up. I could have castrated you like Obara suggested.”

“So you never actually intended to buy anything?”

“Nope,” says Rhaenys. “Although, on second thought, I do rather like this. What do you think?”

He goes from perturbed back to aroused in two seconds flat. Glancing briefly into the hall to check that the attendant is still as oblivious as ever, he steps inside the fitting room and locks the door behind him. “I want to rip it off you is what I think.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rhaenys chides. “This is like two hundred bucks, and I’m not going to reward you for bad behavior, Robb Stark.”

To prove a point, she slowly slides the straps from her shoulders, shamelessly baring her breasts to him as the fabric settles at her hips. He forces himself to wait, even as he longs to fuck her against the wall, never mind who might hear.

Challenge hangs in the air, and then Rhaenys grabs him by the belt and yanks him to her. “If I get banned from this store, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

Robb smirks. “Then try not to scream.”


	17. secret wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with the prospect of being forced to marry each other, Rhaenys and Aegon take matters into their own hands.
> 
> Inspired by @riana-one’s comment on [this post](https://samwpmarleau.tumblr.com/post/168135135144/first-anon-here-not-second-anoni-dont-see-any).

“He can’t  _do this to us_.”

She’s said it before and she’s sure she’ll say it again, but she can’t bring herself to believe it to be the truth. Father has never been shy about his interest in the prophecy, and she knows one day he will expect her to help save the realm against some unknown force, but this?

“He’s the king, he can do what he wants.”

She looks at her brother, and grimaces. The very thought of doing what Father wants, of  _marrying_  Aegon, of  _bedding_  him, makes her want to heave. Naming them after the Conqueror and his sister is one thing. This is quite another.

“Mother will stop it. Mother would never let this pass.” Listening at the keyhole but hours ago had told her that. She’d never heard her so angry before. Robb had looked positively scandalized, and Rhaenys couldn’t blame him; in public, Mother is always the epitome of grace.

“How?” asks Aegon. “Short of hiding us away somewhere, she hasn’t the power.”

“So, what, that’s it then? You’re to be my brother  _and_  my husband? I’m to become your queen one day, I’m to bear your children?”

Rhaenys turns away, her breath coming in bursts. Aegon is struck silent, for once at a loss for words. It’s that more than anything that scares her—Aegon  _always_  has things to say, he  _always_  has a solution. Something he read in a book, something one of the maesters told him, something Uncle Oberyn said,  _anything_. Yet now, there’s no hope at all and—

She nearly jumps when Robb speaks, so quiet has the room become. “Maybe there’s another choice,” he says. “If...if you’re willing.”

She shares a glance with Aegon, who appears just as nonplussed. “What are you talking about?”

“Marry me.”

Rhaenys blinks, certain he must be jesting. “Be serious.”

“I am.” Slowly he gets up from the chair and walks over to her, then takes her hands. She looks up at him to see naught but sincerity in his eyes. “You can’t be wed to Aegon if you’re already wed to another. To me.”

“Even  _if—_ Robb, no septon would conduct a ceremony. It’s practically treason.”

“Who said anything about a septon? The godswood here is but a shade of Winterfell’s, but it’s a godswood all the same. Say the vows with me in front of the heart tree and it will be as valid as a marriage performed by the High Septon himself.”

“That’s—that’s absurd,” she says, even as her heart beats in double-time, even as it becomes impossible to suppress the flicker of  _possibility_. “It would be a scandal on your house, and I’m sure Lord and Lady Stark are already in talks to find a bride for you.”

“So what if they are? There has been no betrothal as yet.”

“Well, then, is there not some maiden you wish to save  _yourself_  for?”

It is an eternity to wait for his answer. She’s been skirting around him for months now, trying to keep everything between them the same despite what she feels, despite what she hopes  _he_ feels. She’s not yet had the courage to say anything to him, to share what’s in her heart, especially because of everything that had happened between their families. Who is she to want Robb Stark, whose family was destroyed because of her father?

Robb’s voice is as steady and sure as winter. “It’s only ever been you, Rhaenys.”

 _Why would you want me?_  she wants to ask.

 _How could you want me?_  she wants to ask.

 _You deserve better than my dysfunctional family_ , she wants to say.

“Are you certain?” It comes out as little more than a stammer. There’s no time for her to sort through Robb’s declaration, she  _knows_  that, but right now that seems an insurmountable task.

“Why would I want anyone else?” he asks.

“We’ll need cloaks,” Aegon tells Robb, as though knowing Rhaenys needs a moment to think—or several. “Can you get one?”

“I’m sure Sansa has one I can steal.”

“Good. Be quick about it.”

Robb gives her one last glance before hurrying out of the room, and Rhaenys turns to her brother. “Do you really think this can work? What if Father says it’s invalid or something? What if he tries for an annulment?”

“And in so doing proclaim that he considers marriages made in sight of the old gods a sham?” Aegon counters. “No. If we do this right, there would be no grounds for setting it aside. Anyway, would the High Septon rather acknowledge this wedding or preside over one of incest? You know as well as I that the Faith has never truly accepted the practice, even for Targaryens. It’s not like Robb’s some peasant, either. He’s the future Warden of the North.”

“Still,” she warns, “unless there’s a witness there of unimpeachable honor, what’s to stop Father from simply saying it’s a lie we made up?”

“So we’ll get a witness.”

“ _Who?_ ”

Aegon considers that. “Uncle Jaime never strayed from his loyalty to our family, and he’s a Kingsguard. His vows would prevent him from perpetrating a lie.”

“Uncle Jaime,” she agrees, wondering how she didn’t think of him herself. “It’s my union, so I’ll find him. You go find a cloak of mine we can use.”

Aegon nods, and with their slipshod plan set, they head  in opposite directions, Aegon to her chambers and Rhaenys herself to the White Sword Tower.

* * *

It doesn’t begin to feel real until she’s sneaking out of the castle, Aegon and Jaime at her sides, Robb within sight at the entrance to the godswood. It hadn’t been nearly as difficult as she’d expected to earn Jaime’s acquiescence, to her relief. After the shock and declarations of her madness had subsided, the full scope of what she was facing had hit him. Incest, between her and Aegon no less, whom she knows Jaime loves as his own. She’d seen in his eyes all that he’d been forced to watch because choice had been taken away, all that he’d been forced to suffer.

In the end, although he’d called them both foolish and impulsive, he’d agreed nonetheless, and now here she stands, about to rebel in a way she thinks would make Black Betha proud. None of them are dressed in finery, barely a cut above attire they’d don on any other day.

But with Robb staring at her like she’s the rising sun, with Aegon’s mouth turned into a mischievous grin, and Uncle Jaime a solid and reassuring observer, she couldn’t care less what anyone wears.

“Who comes?” Robb begins. “Who comes before the gods?”

“Rhaenys of House Targaryen comes here to be wed,” says Aegon. “A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

“Me,” says Robb. His voice breaks just slightly, and she smiles in encouragement. “Robb of House Stark, heir to Winterfell. I claim her. Who gives her?”

“Aegon of House Targaryen, who is her brother and the crown prince. Who shall bear witness?”

Jaime steps forward and briefly squeezes Rhaenys’s hand. “I bear witness. Jaime of House Lannister, a sworn brother of the Kingsguard.”

“Princess Rhaenys, will you take this man?”

It’s crazy, this plot—this  _marriage—_ being here in the presence of so few and yet so many, only a single lantern to pierce the darkness, the eyes of the old gods peering down at them. It doesn’t feel oppressive, not truly, not like she’d thought. It does not pain her to be here, she only wishes her mother could be beside her as well. But such a thing would be far too dangerous, for her mother most of all; Uncle Jaime is risk enough.

She breathes deep and says clearly, “I take this man.”

Aegon steps back, leaving her to join her hands with Robb’s. They kneel before the heart tree and bow their heads, and she wonders what it is she should pray for. She’s only addressed the Seven before. Robb does not have the same trouble, instantly entering into silent prayer, though what his words are she couldn’t say.

 _Let this marriage stand_ , she beseeches the old gods.  _Let it stand from this day until our last. Let this pact of ice and fire endure, come what may._

It’s rough, and probably there was a foreword she should have said rather than jumping straight into it, but she hopes it’s enough. Once they rise, Robb undoes the clasp on her maiden’s cloak and gently hands it to Jaime. It’s not the real thing, merely a cloak Mother had given her for her sixteenth nameday, but her sigil is picked out in the silk all the same, and that’s what counts. In its place, Robb takes the gray wool cloak from Aegon, emblazoned with the Stark direwolf. It, too, is makeshift, pilfered from Lady Sansa’s trunk, but it, too, would have to do.

The cloaking signals the end of the ceremony, she knows, short and to the point, but she kisses him anyway. He’s  _hers_  now, body and soul, and it’s her turn to claim him.

“I’m sure I need not tell you what the final requirement is,” says Jaime loudly, “nor, I suspect, will you insist that I stay for it.”

“Or me,” Aegon puts in with a shudder.

Rhaenys can  _feel_  Robb’s blush, but her voice borders on flippant as she replies, “Definitely not. Thank you both. For everything.”

Jaime winks, then he and Aegon make haste out of the godswood, leaving her alone with Robb.

“You’re sure that’s it?” she asks.

“I’m sure. All except for the…”

“Bedding,” she fills in. “Well, come on then, I’m not about to let this go to waste because of a technicality.”

She yelps in surprise as Robb scoops her up into his arms without warning. “As my princess commands.”

“Not just your princess,” she grins. “Your  _wife_.”


	18. jon and aegon play matchmaker ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Hi, Could you do a sequel to your Robb x Rhaenys ficlet in which Jon and Aegon play matchmaker please? Thanks !!!
> 
> Another anon asked: Hi will you write a follow-up to your Jon being matchmaker for Robb and Rhaenys pls?
> 
> [Part 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12831156/chapters/29295564)

“I can’t tell. Can you tell?”

Jon looks over at his half-brother in exasperation. “No, Egg, I can’t. I don’t have super-hearing, you know.”

“But, I mean, they’re conversing at least,” says Aegon, crunching through his hundredth curly fry. “That’s a good sign, right?”

“Do we have to analyze it?” Jon whines. “This is still really weird.”

Aegon brandishes a fry at him. “Look, I know you and Rhae are different people, but can’t you trust me on this? You said yourself you’ve been trying to get Robb back in the game for months.”

It’s true, he had. Not that Jon’s exactly an expert in the dating department, what with his subpar track record, but he likes to think he’s a good morale booster. Besides, he  _had_  agreed to this, however reluctantly. Cowing to his half-brother’s beseeching stare, he turns his attention down to the lanes, where he notices Robb and Rhaenys have struck up a duel of their own in the lane next to the one Jon had abandoned. The text on the screen is too hard for him to read from here, but going by Rhaenys’s obvious glee, he guesses she’s getting the better of Robb.

For a full ten minutes the pair had just stood there not talking, and then they’d clearly mutually decided to ignore the elephant in the room instead of waiting in awkward silence for Jon and Aegon to return. Perhaps Rhaenys had realized it isn’t  _Robb_  she holds a grudge for, and Robb…

Well, Rhaenys can be a nasty piece of work, but he can’t deny that she’s pretty, and if Aegon’s word is true, she can be charming and flirtatious--though both are unfathomable to Jon--when she chooses to be. And, okay, maybe it’s nice to see Robb engaging with a girl again, even if it’s this particular girl. Between the good-natured ribbing, the uninterrupted game, and the furtive glances he can see even from his poor vantage point, there’s no mistaking it: Aegon’s intuition is better than Jon gave it credit for.

Unfortunately.

“How long are we supposed to sit here exactly?” Jon asks. “I feel like a stalker.”

Aegon nudges the plate of curly fries towards him. “Settle in.”

* * *

Three games, as it turns out. Robb narrowly wins the second but Rhaenys trounces him in the third, seemingly getting better with every cup of beer. Finally, Aegon makes the executive decision to stop the bleeding before the equally competitive combatants decide to stay until closing, trading wins and losses the entire night.

As soon as they join them, it’s like a bubble bursts, and tension once more drenches them all. That is, until they reach the parking lot. While he’s digging in his jacket pockets for the keys, out of the corner of his eye he sees Rhaenys hand a slip of paper to Robb.

“Here,” she says, “should you choose to get your ass beat again.”

He’d give just about anything for that paper to  _not_  have Rhaenys’s number written on it, but based on the stupid expression on Robb’s face, there’s little doubt. Worse still, his hope that he can simply ignore what he’d glimpsed gets dashed in short order. That night, Robb comes to the door of his bedroom and leans against the frame, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Something wrong?” Jon asks.

Robb nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Listen...I know the cardinal rule of the Bro Code, and I know you and Rhaenys pretty much hate each other, but…”

He can’t seem to find the courage to finish his sentence, so Jon finishes it for him. “You like her.”

“Yeah,” says Robb sheepishly. “But you’re like a brother to me, so just say the word and I’ll stay away. I won’t mention any of this again, Scout’s honor.”

Every ounce of Jon wants to vehemently tell him that it  _would_ , in fact, make him extremely uncomfortable, that he absolutely  _does not_  want them dating. Yet at the same time...who is he to impede Robb’s potential for happiness? Or Rhaenys’s, for that matter?  _Or_ , who’s to say it would even work out? Who’s to say it would go past a single date? Maybe they’d figure out that whatever attraction there’d been tonight was a one-time thing.

“No,” Jon sighs. “I won’t get in your way. Just...don’t share the details, all right?”

“Deal.”

Robb gives him a winning grin as he bounds out of the room, and it isn’t until hours later that Jon realizes that’s the first time he’s seen that smile in months.


	19. accidental pregnancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Hi, I totally love your Robb/Rhaenys fics, they are so adorable. Would you do a modern AU of them having a baby plz? Thanks !!!

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be fine,” she says, huddled beneath a blanket. “I’m sure it’s just another bug. Besides, you need to save up those vacation days. ‘My girlfriend is sick’ isn’t a valid excuse to miss a briefing, babe.”

It warms her heart to hear the doubt in his voice. “Well...call me as soon as it’s over then, okay? It’s not like you to have, what, four colds in the last few weeks? I want to know what they say. The appointment’s at noon, right?”

“Yes, _Mom_ ,” she laughs. “I’ll call you after.”

“You’d better,” he says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Truthfully, she’s more worried than she’s let on. Even though she’d been assured long ago that her mother’s condition isn’t congenital, Robb’s concern has long been hers, too. It _isn’t_ like her to get so sick so often, not to mention the full-body aches and lack of appetite. She’s always taken after her father and Uncle Oberyn, only coming down with something once a year at most.  Even worse, she can’t even blame it on someone from the newsroom, since she’s the only one who’s been afflicted.

Maybe it’s nothing, but the thoughts still plague her. What if she goes in to find out that she _has_ inherited her mother’s illness after all? Or a different one entirely? What if it’s not just a run of bad luck?

Knowing having a panic attack would help exactly no one, she turns to her favorite distraction. She opens her laptop to the half-finished investigative piece she was supposed to get to her editor yesterday, sifting through source after source, trying to cull the fibs from the truth, the verifiable authorities versus the crooked ones. It infuriates her, as always, how utterly soulless people can be, but at least it keeps her occupied.

For now.

* * *

Her mother is a trauma surgeon, not a GP, but she’s also the only one Rhaenys truly trusts to provide a true diagnosis with neither pity nor sugarcoating. What _didn’t_ help is that Elia had told her it was indeed unusual for her to be feeling so miserable, and to then order bloodwork. She said she doubted it was anything of note, but as long as insurance was covering it, there’s no harm in getting peace of mind.

And so here she is, biting her nails as she waits for the tests to come back. It’s not her first time in a hospital, not even her hundredth time, yet she’s never felt so on-edge before. The clock is ticking too loud, the smell of antiseptic nauseates her, the lights are overbright. Finally, when she can hardly stand the waiting anymore, her mother enters again.

“Well, I was right, it’s nothing to worry about. In fact, you deserve congratulations.” A brilliant smile grows on Elia’s face. “You’re pregnant, honey.”

Apprehension growing, Rhaenys takes the paper and reads the text written there. Most of it is filed with acronyms she doesn’t understand, but one word stands out all too clearly among the rest: POSITIVE.

“No,” she says numbly. “There has to be a mistake.”

Elia laughs. “I had them run it twice. There’s no mistake.”

“ _No_ ,” Rhaenys repeats. “Robb and I — we _always_ use protection, _both_ of us. This isn’t possible.”

“It’s not common, but these things do happen,” says Elia. “Birth control isn’t infallible, sweetheart.”

“B-But—how am I supposed to tell him?”

“You’re the only one who can answer that question. Just remember that the longer you wait, the harder it will be.” Elia squeezes her shoulder gently. “I’m going to have Arthur take you home, all right? He was going to meet me for lunch, but I don’t want you driving yourself back.”

Rhaenys nods, as though she’s not about two seconds from a breakdown. “All right.”

* * *

It’s clear from her stepfather’s face that it’s killing him to not know what’s going on, but he doesn’t press. Rather, he chooses to ramble on about this or that, and she’s grateful for it. It means she can focus on his steady voice, not the mess of thoughts that are jumbling up her head. The ride seems far shorter than usual, and before she knows it, he’s walking her to her door.

“I can stay,” he offers.

“No, I just need to think.”

He looks like he wants to object, but she suspects her mother had advised him against that. “Okay. But I’m just a phone call away if you need anything.”

Somehow, she manages a fleeting smile, and pecks him on the cheek. “I know you are. Thanks.”

The apartment is eerily silent as she bids Arthur goodbye and slumps down on the couh, the medical report still clutched tightly in her fist. She reads over it again and again, yet the text doesn’t change, nor does the memory of how certain her mother had been. She places a shaking hand on her stomach, trying to fathom the fact that there’s a tiny life growing inside her. She’d always wanted kids someday, but _someday_ is a world apart from _now_. Robb had talked about wanting kids, too, but they’d never really talked about having them _together_. They’d been so careful for exactly that reason. With her having so many leads to track down and Robb just as busy at the precinct, the timing couldn’t be worse.

Her fears go round and round and round, threatening to overwhelm her, and then the door bursts open. She glances up, expecting to see Arthur perhaps, but on the contrary, it’s Robb standing there, equal parts perturbed and anxious.

She has the presence of mind to glance at the clock, and yes, he should most definitely not be home yet. “What are you doing here?”

“You said you’d call me after your appointment,” he accuses. “You didn’t. I was worried.”

“You up and _left—_?”

“Rhaenys, what happened?” he asks. “What’d they say?”

“I’m not going to die,” she says, to assuage the worst of the possibilities she knows are occurring to him. “I’m...well, you can read it for yourself.”

She’d hoped for a more eloquent explanation, but now that Robb’s here, it’s like dawn has broken over the horizon as she realizes she doesn’t have to bear this news alone. He frowns in confusion as he takes the paper from her—and as he reads, the color drains from his face.

“This is for real?” he asks weakly. “You’re…?”

“Yes. Mom gave me the results herself.” He’s quiet, unusually quiet, and after several minutes of it, she can’t bear it anymore. “Say something, please. I’m freaking out over here.”

Abruptly, he drops the sheet on the table and disappears into their bedroom. Her heart drops; out of all the scenarios she’d envisioned, she hadn’t thought he would just _ignore_ her. But then he emerges again, and as if in slow motion she watches as he walks over and drops to one knee in front of her. A ring rests in his outstretched palm, bright yellow citrine bound in gold.

Her _grandmother’s_ ring.

It’s all wrong.

She’s dreamt of him proposing since their first date. A quiet night in, no frills, just sweatpants and spontaneity, maybe with some lame HGTV show in the background. Not _this_. She’d never wanted to be presented with a ring solely because she carries his child.

“Robb,” she warns, “if this is only because—”

“Elia gave it to me three months ago,” he interrupts. “I just haven’t been able to find the right moment to ask you. Now I’ve found it.”

_Three months_ , she marvels. She hadn’t ever envisioned this, either. Acceptance of the news, maybe, but not a proposal to go along with it. Not an unconditional commitment. Yet that’s exactly what this is, and for the first time since she’d entered the hospital, her head clears.

“So ask me.”

He looks up at her, more nervous than she’s ever seen him. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she says. “ _Yes_ , I will marry you.”

He waits just long enough to slide the ring onto her finger before he kisses her, sweet and soft and full of promise.


	20. rhaenys and catelyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Robb/Rhaenys forming an alliance during the events of GoT?
> 
>  
> 
> [Part 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12831156/chapters/29295447)  
> [Part 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12831156/chapters/29295492)

She should have brought Arianne, she realizes now, or Tyene—and would have, had they been the practical choices. But Obara was what she needed at the time, a warrior like Ser Daemon who could also provide the female company she craved. Obara is a warrior, yes; unfortunately, her talents do not extend to preparing one for a wedding.

There are some women at Riverrun who could help her, she supposes, cooks and servants and midwives, but she would sooner have a scorpion nest in her hair than have them look at her the way they do: a mixture of pity, distrust, and curiosity.

And so the task has fallen to her. It is she alone in the chamber she’d been given, she alone with a tableau of brushes, perfumes, and colorful paints spread out in from of her. Most of all,  _frustration_. This has never been her forte either, after all, and as beautiful as her dress is, it’s impossible to do up the back by herself, and her hair is too bloody thick to pin back by her inexperienced hands, and she doesn’t even  _know_  Robb Stark, and more than anything she just wants her mother.

She quickly darts out to grab a comb and her hand tightens around it until the stiff teeth dig into her palm, the better to fend off her spiral. She can’t afford to fall apart here,  _now_ , no matter how much she wants to. She is made of sun and fire, and her mettle is stronger than this, it has to be.

It’s just as she’s seconds away from breaking something—how can she be a  _queen_  if she can’t even fasten her own dress?—that her door opens, and she looks in the mirror to see Catelyn Stark standing there, austere as always. Rhaenys still regards her with wariness; the Lady of Winterfell has barely spoken to her since she’d arrived, and she doesn’t even know whether Catelyn had agreed to the marriage or whether Robb, as the king, had overridden her.

“I hear you’ve refused any assistance,” says Catelyn, almost gently. “It’s bad luck for a young woman to be alone before her wedding.”

Rhaenys stiffens her spine. “I’d rather be wed in my smallclothes than have those simpering fools assist me one moment and speak ill about me behind my back the next.”

Of all things, Catelyn chuckles. “I quite understand. To this day, many northmen consider me no more than a southron flower. I wish I could tell you the gossip goes away, but it never does.”

“I’ve endured worse.”

“Yes, child, I daresay you have.” Catelyn’s hands tentatively begin removing the haphazard pins Rhaenys had attempted to artfully stick in her hair. “I cannot help with your past, but if you’ll allow me, I can help with this.”

There are a thousand things Rhaenys wants to say, most of them cruel, but she doesn’t voice any of them. Instead, she gives a curt nod and, for an hour, remembers what it’s like to feel a mother’s touch.


	21. robb crowns rhaenys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a three-sentence meme (though this turned out to be more).
> 
> 1nsaankahanhai-bkr asked: "The crown suits you, princess." Robb x rhaenys.

A hundred eyes are upon them, her people and his. Robb has never seemed comfortable wearing his crown, that ugly thing of iron, yet she feels neither weight nor burden when he places her own on her head.

It was her mother’s, all elegance and spun gold; Robb had offered to have one made for her in the Northern style, but she had recoiled at the thought. She may be giving up her life to this King in the North, her people’s army, her home, but she will not renounce her heritage.

“The crown suits you, princess,” he says. Gently, always gently, like he’s not sure whether he’s supposed to approach her with fear or with pity.

Her voice is one of steel.  _“Queen.”_


	22. knocking on the wrong door au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a number AU meme.
> 
> @poesiariptide asked: 28, Robb x Rhaenys

Rhaenys is just settling in with Balerion sleeping contentedly in her lap to finally make a dent in her Netflix queue when there comes a knock at her door. She’s on call tonight, so she  _has_  to be up at this hour, but who else in their right mind would be? It’s three-thirty in the morning!

She hopes the knocker will give up, but they don’t. Balerion yowls in irritation as she gets up from the couch. She’s prepared to give the intruder the what-for—at least, until she sees him.

She’d shared an elevator or two with the guy before, had admittedly checked him out from afar, mired as she is in a depressingly long dry spell, but she’d never actually spoken with him beyond the courteous “What floor?” and “Can you believe the washer’s broken again?” Hell, she doesn’t even know his first name, only his last: Stark, acquired from the one time they’d both been picking up their mail.

“Um...hi?” She’s abruptly hyper-aware that she’s not wearing a bra beneath her sweatshirt, and her pajama pants are printed with ice skating penguins. Hardly the ideal outfit, even if it is three a.m.

She doesn’t get the chance to dwell, though—he doesn’t even get the chance to reply—for in the next moment, her cousin is exclaiming her name and drunkenly falling into a hug.

“Ari?” she asks, thoroughly confused. Arianne doesn’t explain, just helps herself inside Rhaenys’s apartment, so instead she turns her confusion to Stark. “What exactly is going on here? Who are you again?”

“Robb.” From the look of him, he had been happily asleep. “Your friend here mixed up our addresses. You’re 415, I’m 315. I thought I’d bring her here, spare the rest of the building my rude awakening.”

“I appreciate it,” Rhaenys sighs. She looks back into the kitchen where she sees Arianne digging into the remainder of her birthday cake, which she’d been saving. “Wonder what happened,” she murmurs, more to herself than to Robb. “She’s usually one who enjoys watching  _other_  people get drunk, not herself.”

“She mentioned a Daemon sending mixed messages or something,” Robb shrugs. “But she kept switching subjects, so I don’t know any more than that.”

 _Daemon?_  Rhaenys thinks.  _Fuck, I’m in for a long night._

“Well anyway,” says Robb, “I wish you luck, but I’m going back to bed. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, thanks, you too,” she says. “I’ll see you around.”

Robb gives her a half-smile that—to her dismay—has her fighting off a blush. “I’ll hold you to that.”


	23. meeting in the ER au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a number AU meme.
> 
> @littorallbones asked: rhaenys/robb #15

She’s been in the emergency room a million times, but up until now it had only been to visit her mother. Never had she had to use their services before. She  _certainly_  never expected that her first time walking up to the admitting desk would be to explain that she gave herself a concussion as a result of finally trying the long-ago-gifted, supposedly-stress-reducing exercise ball, only to fall off of it and slam her head against the floor.

God, the nurses would never let her live this down.

Indeed, Gloria breaks into peals of laughter at her story and immediately flags down Jamal, Rhaenys’s now  _least_ -favorite phlebotomist, to tell him, too. Once Rhaenys tersely reminds them that her head  _fucking hurts_ , Gloria tells her to take a seat while the victims of a three-car pileup that had come in shortly before her are tended to first.

There are several plastic chairs free, but she chooses the lone couch out of sullen self-pity, despite the other end of it being occupied.

“That was quite the tale,” her seatmate says. She glares at him, but he merely shrugs. “Couldn’t help but overhear.”

 _Bet you could_ , she thinks. She doesn’t say it aloud, but only because he has the grace to keep his voice at a volume she can tolerate.

“Yes, I’m sure my story will end up on the wall in their break room.” She glances over, and though it’s hard to keep his face in focus, he doesn’t appear all that hurt. “Why are you here?”

“I might out-stupid your injury.” He gestures towards his right hand, which she can see now is resting limply in his lap in a way it most definitely shouldn’t be. “I was putting together a desk, but apparently not well, since it completely fell apart. In my defense, it was from IKEA.”

“You don’t seem very concerned.”

“I took some aspirin. And it’s the second time I’ve broken this hand. Though at least the last time was for a good reason.”

“What happened last time?”

His good humor fades into something darker. “My, uh…my girlfriend at the time, Jeyne, we were at a party our junior year of college—neither of us even  _liked_  the party scene, it was just the thing to do—and one of the frat guys made a comment about her race that I don’t care to repeat, so…needless to say, the break was worth it.”

“I know what that’s like,” Rhaenys mutters. “The comments, not the break.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.” In the middle of the hospital with her head pounding like it’s being jackhammered is  _really_  not the time or place she wants to get into this. “Well, anyway, I’m glad I’m not the only one in here tonight because they were a dumbass.”

He smiles. “Same.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then Gloria calls out, “Robb Stark? Dr. Martell can see you now.”

Rhaenys snorts. “Looks like you get my mom. Good news for me.”

“Happy to help, I guess,” he says. “Thanks for the company, um…?”

“Rhaenys,” she fills in. “Have fun desk-building.”

A roll of his eyes is the response she gets, and she concludes that the concussion is to blame for her watching him walk down the blessedly large lobby. It’s been a hot minute since she’s seen an ass that nice. She hopes she remembers it in the morning.

(Later, she’ll also blame the concussion for her decision to find him on Facebook and send him a friend request, and she’ll blame the narcotics he must have been given when it’s accepted.)


	24. halloween pet costume contest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Halloween meme.
> 
> @thundersnowstorm asked: robb and rhaenys enter grey wind and balerion in a halloween pet costume contest. it gets competitive....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my own recent workplace pet contest, [this fanart](http://alyruko.tumblr.com/post/127646146071/i-feel-personally-offended-this-is-not-a-scene-in), and [this photo](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/222506037818974980/?lp=true).

Normally, she wouldn’t bother being so invested in something as trivial as a competition amongst colleagues, even if this one is about whose pet has the best Halloween costume and when the grand prize is a ten-dollar Petsmart gift card.

Except that this year, Robb Stark from Advertising struts around confident as all hell that his slobber machine will win. If there’s one thing she hates more than employee rallies, it’s cocky men who  _strut_. Thus, their rivalry is born. There are other competitors, of course—it’s a company-wide thing—but she’s pretty sure no one else but the two of them have gone so far as to make flyers and canvass the city.

In her completely objective opinion, Balerion should win by a landslide. Some might dress up their cat as a witch, but she’s elected to dress hers as a dragon. The red wings go perfectly with his jet-black fur, her handmade set of scales had taken hours, and his death glare when she puts his costume on only adds to the effect. She even convinces Quent to use his absurdly expensive camera to do a photoshoot. A quick Photoshop session later to add some sky, and she’s got a movie-poster-worthy display.

Meanwhile, Robb dresses his husky up as Dracula, of all things, with the background being a thoroughly uncreative backyard during the brief snowstorm they’d had last weekend. It shouldn’t even be a  _contest_. She blames the fact that they’re close in votes on more of the public being dog people than cat people.

That is, people with  _no taste_.

In the end, somehow, the competition week concludes with them in a dead tie. Instead of determining a clear winner, the executive decision is made ( _not_  by her) to just have the two of them share the amount of the gift card. As though five dollars each could buy hardly anything worth the drive to the store.

Nevertheless, a joint win is better than a loss, and that alone is what has her sucking up her pride long enough to shake his proffered hand in congratulations.

“You know,” says Robb as they head out of HR to the elevators, “Grey Wind is pretty friendly. I’m sure he’d love to meet his co-victor sometime.”

Rhaenys snorts. Balerion has hated dogs (okay, well, hated basically everything that’s not her) since he was a kitten. She sincerely doubts Robb’s dog would be any different. “Gonna have to pass on that one.”

“Oh, come on,” he persists. “There’s this pop-up bar downtown where you can take your pets—Pup-up, it’s called. I think they allow cats, too.”

“Sorry, I’m busy.”

“What, forever?”

“Yes.” Rhaenys presses the button for the fifth floor for Robb, then the seventh for her. “Why are you asking me anyway?”

“Consider it a challenge.”

“I’m not agreeing to that.”

Robb waits until the elevator dings and he steps out to answer. “All right then. You lose.”

Rhaenys scoffs to herself. What a  _moronic_  proposition.

All the same…given his fervor with the last competition, she’s not sure she trusts that he wouldn’t put some letter in everyone’s mailbox claiming that she’d chickened out.

She allows herself a few minutes of deliberation once she gets to her desk, then drafts a new email and sends it to him with two small words:

_Game on._


End file.
